Not fond of this one. It kinda feels like a filler to me, although plot does happen so hey...
Scott awoke to the nagging certainty that he was being watched. Instinct told him that the presence wasn't a threat before he even spied the culprit. It took a moment to gather his bearings. He was far more used to sleeping under an open sky than a roof these days. His brothers were still asleep, all crowded onto a bed that really wasn't designed to accommodate four grown men.
John was against the wall, on his back with his arms crossed beneath his head, expression softened by sleep so that he almost looked like his old self again. The blanket that Scott had tucked over him had miraculously not been lost during the night, although John rarely moved in his sleep, a trick learnt from tying himself to a bunk during his early days in space when he had yet to grow accustomed to sleeping in zero-gee. Virgil, despite being the family bear, wasn't taking up much space at all. He had his back to John with an arm slung over Gordon's waist, forehead pressed to the space between Gordon's shoulders and one hand tangled in the fabric above his little brother's heart.
Scott was on the very edge of the mattress so that Gordon was bracketed between himself and Virgil, which had been a great plan in so far as lulling Gordon into sleep and fending off night terrors but now put him at very real risk of falling off the bed entirely. His bites were aching again, so he rolled over with the intention of getting up to fetch more meds only to come face-to-face with a pair of eyes gleaming in the semi-darkness.
He bolted upright so quickly that he nearly gave himself whiplash. The mattress dipped under his shifting weight and deposited him onto the floor with an ungraceful smack of uncoordinated limbs against floorboards and a high-pitched yelp. Only sheer luck kept him from knocking his head against the bedside table.
The eyes blinked apologetically. "Sorry."
"Holy shit, Alan," Scott hissed, clasping a hand to his chest. His heart was hammering as if he'd just sprinted from another rotter. "Don't do that." He rubbed the bleariness from his vision. "How long have you been sitting there?"
Alan ducked his head. "Not too long. Only about ten minutes."
"Still creepy."
Alan grinned. "Did I scare you?"
"Maybe a little," Scott confessed, rubbing his lower back which was still throbbing from the impromptu collapse onto the floor. He checked to see if he'd woken any of his brothers – specifically Gordon who had always been a light sleeper – but answering snores proved otherwise.
Alan scrambled to his feet, eyes bright with a strange mix of intent and curiosity. He was in an oversized tee and too-long sweats which kept getting caught under his heels, hair askew as if he had only just tumbled out of bed. Dark circles suggested he hadn't slept for as long as Scott would have liked but any rest was better than none at all.
"C'mon, I need to show you something."
Scott squinted up at him dubiously. "Show me what?"
"Just come on before we miss it."
Alright, consider his curiosity piqued. He pushed himself upright with a stifled groan. The rain had yet to ease up and the constant damp ignited aches in old injuries, mixing with the dull pain of his newer wounds so that his entire body felt as if he'd been used as a punching bag.
He gave Alan's shoulder a light shove. "Grab me the bottle by the bathroom sink?"
Alan's steps sounded strange in the stillness, the light smack of bare feet interrupted by the swish of fabric when his sweats dragged over the floor. He returned with the pills in hand, face drawn in a frown as he handed them over.
"Are those painkillers?"
"Yup." Scott swallowed two dry – earning a disgusted look from a certain little brother - and set the bottle onto the bedside cabinet. "Right, let's go."
Alan didn't look convinced but didn't argue. He led the way to the kitchen of the main apartment without further protest, although kept shooting Scott concerned glances, all wide puppy eyes and bitten lips as he tried to think of a way to phrase his thoughts. Scott planted a hand on the kid's shoulder and tugged him close to tousle his hair, bemused when Alan didn't shove him away.
"I'm okay, Al."
"Really? Those are strong pain meds."
"Old age," Scott joked. "It gets to all of us eventually."
Alan dragged his heels a little.
"Do the bites hurt that badly?" He peered up at Scott through tangled hair which fell across his eyes. "Still?"
"Healing is a slow process," Scott reminded him. "Especially when I haven't really given my body chance to get some proper rest. I'm alright, kiddo, don't worry."
Alan rolled his shoulders self-consciously. "Don't call me kiddo."
It seemed strange walking around the place at this time. They were far from being the only pair awake – three sets of boots were missing from their designated places by the stairwell and a stained teaspoon on the sideboard was still hot from use where someone had carried the mug back to bed for an early morning caffeine boost – but there was an undeniable sense of solitude in the absence of voices.
Scott couldn't shake the feeling that he was trespassing. It was a relief to reach the main apartment which held a distinctly homely sense, inviting strangers to become family no matter what time of day it was, including an evil hour of the morning.
It wasn't yet dawn – not that it would have made much difference as the sky was choking on cloud. The pale grey light of dying night was spreading across the landscape, slinking through the curtains to brush the kitchen in soft silver. It was still sufficiently dark to necessitate a lamp, but it was gentle enough on the eyes to ease Scott's ever-present headache. He longed to help himself to the precious coffee supply hidden in the highest cupboard, but he couldn't face another caffeine withdrawal.
Alan tugged the curtains aside, leaning over the back of the couch to press his nose to the window, searching for something in the distance. Temperatures had plummeted overnight and he had visible goose-bumps along his arms, but he didn't appear to notice, too focussed on the view. Scott stole a spare blanket from the armrest and wrapped around Alan's shoulders.
"So? What's so interesting that you dragged me out of bed before dawn?"
Alan sent him a deadpan stare. "Dude. You're a weird morning person. You voluntarily get out of bed before dawn."
That… was a valid point.
"Don't call me dude. We've been over this."
Alan hid his smile in the couch cushions. "Okay, see the gap between those apartment blocks?"
He pressed a finger to the glass, gesturing to the partly crumbled structures which appeared dark and foreboding in the grey light. Evidence of burnt-out fires streaked the sides in soot. Wisps of low cloud floated around the tops like ghosts. There was something incredibly disturbing about them. Gaping eye sockets in the form of broken windows encouraged crows to settle on ledges where they remained perfectly still, just watching, as if they could see into Scott's soul.
He shivered and Alan pressed closer to his side, radiating warmth whereas Scott hadn't been able to shake a bone-deep chill ever since he'd plunged into the swimming pool. Even in the depths of fever he'd been conscious of the ice in his veins. Maybe it was part of the recovery from blood loss, but he wasn't about to ask Virgil to check. God knew his brother had enough to worry about already.
"Yeah, I see it." He propped his chin on the back of the couch with a yawn. Maybe he should have a coffee, even if it was instant granules. "What am I looking for?"
"Just wait." Alan's eyes were narrowed in concentration and in the dull light they appeared a darker blue than usual. He tapped the window. "Any second now. Just keep watching that gap."
"What's through the gap?"
"The railway."
"What?"
"Train tracks."
Scott repressed a sigh. "Yeah, I kinda got that part. Why are we watching it though?"
"I told you," Alan shot back, somehow managing to inject a healthy dose of sarcasm into sign language, which, frankly, was an impressive feat of teenage sass. "Just wait and see."
It was hard to see through the fine mist of rain. The window was foggy with condensation and Scott wiped his sleeve across it. His vision threatened to blur. He blinked, considering going back to bed only Alan was tense with concentration and this seemed important to him, so Scott returned his attention to the railway. Ten seconds passed. He counted them as the clock on the wall ticked over to a new hour. Tiredness was a tantalising whisper at the back of his mind.
And then he glimpsed a flicker of light.
"There."
Scott sat bolt upright. The light passed in steady waves, broken only when it passed out of sight behind the apartment blocks. Tiny vibrations rumbled through the window underneath his palm. An abandoned glass of water on the kitchen counter trembled. He gripped the couch tightly, scarcely daring to believe his own eyes.
"That's impossible," he breathed as the light finally died away and the low rumble dissipated back into the constant drum of rain against the glass.
Alan shook his head emphatically. Strands of blond hair fell into his eyes.
"I thought I was imagining it at first, but it's real. I woke up and couldn't get back to sleep so I came in here to grab a glass of water and that's when I first saw one. After that, I counted. There's a train every two hours."
"Where are they going?" Scott wondered aloud.
Alan shrugged, the blanket falling loosely around his elbows.
"No idea, but I do know one thing…" His smile was electric. "They're heading north."
John and Gordon snapped awake within a minute of Scott's urgent voice. Virgil, on the other hand, had to be physically shaken and still took a solid thirty seconds to be dragged out of his slumber. Some things would never change, not even during the end of the world.
Alan clambered onto the bed to sit between Virgil and Gordon, signing too quickly for anyone save for John to keep up with him.
"Okay," Virgil grumbled, scrubbing grogginess from his mind as he ran a hand down his face, "I get you're excited, but I have no idea what you're saying. My brain hasn't had chance to wake up yet."
Alan rolled his eyes but obligingly slowed down. "There are trains heading north. They pass through every two hours."
Scott shoved Virgil's feet aside to sit down. "I saw one for myself just five minutes ago. If we can find a way to hitch a ride, it would be a faster and safer way out of the city. We could catch up on lost time, maybe even put ourselves ahead of our original schedule."
Gordon sat up, knitting his fingers together in his lap. "I don't know." His eyes were stormy. "We have no idea who's on board."
"Could be automated," John remarked.
"Could be," Gordon conceded with a little tip of his head. "But I doubt it. Those systems got knocked offline, remember? If we can't even contact EOS, just imagine how weaker connections must have fared. The GDF might be running those trains and that's the best scenario. What if it's bandits or privateers? They're not going to take kindly to strangers climbing onto their train. Also, cargo?"
Alan wasn't dissuaded. "We could sit on the roof."
Gordon made the smart choice to ignore that comment. "I still think hotwiring a car is the way to go."
There was contemplative silence.
"Cars require fuel," Scott pointed out. "That's fine closer to the city but I don't want to get stuck in the middle of nowhere again. Besides, wherever these trains are going there has to be a settlement. Wasn't that our plan? To find answers? That involves people. We're not exactly going to get any clues from the infected."
Virgil sat up and stole Gordon's pillow to lean against. "I think the real question is how we'd even get on board in the first place. Trains are fast and while that's a benefit once we're actually on one, right now it's an issue. They're hardly going to stop for us."
"Then we need to get above the train." Scott tried not to laugh at the blank looks he was treated to. He held up his hands in surrender. "Seriously. We can't match the speed, so we get above and drop down onto the roof."
"That's insane," John informed him in no uncertain terms.
"Maybe," Scott conceded, "But we've done it before. Admittedly, that was with our ships rather than a train, but the principle's the same."
"We'd only get one shot," Virgil said quietly, clearly considering the possibility. "And the margin for error is… I don't even want to attempt that math. Our ships were slaved to our consoles – they mirrored our positions. Also, you have been known to miss."
"One time," Scott protested. "One time that happened!"
"And he was concussed at the time," Alan interjected, eternally loyal. "So does it really count?"
Virgil's pointed silence suggested that yes, it absolutely did count, but he didn't continue to argue. He exchanged a glance with Gordon, then turned to look expectantly at John who had yet to weigh in with an opinion.
"There are risks," John admitted.
He leant back against the wall, folding his hands over his knees to keep himself from instinctively reaching for holographic readouts. Making sensible decisions was a lot harder without the data to back it up.
"But there are also risks if we travel by car, possibly even more so. The main thing we're short on is time. This train could get us ahead of the game. Besides, aren't we missing a crucial point?"
His voice was laced with the same dark curiosity that Kayo had entertained upon learning those state vectors months ago.
"Whoever is behind it has either retained or established infrastructure. If that's within their power then they're almost certain to have working radios. If it's the GDF then I can try to integrate EOS into their systems, maybe stop the nuclear strikes. If it's privateers then they're bound to have information. Either way, they're people we need to meet, so if the train will take us right to their doorstep… It's an opportunity I don't think we should pass up. Of course, it's dangerous, but look at what we've been through already."
Gordon looked up sharply. "EOS can do that?"
"If I can get a working link?" John frowned as he ran mental calculations. "Theoretically, yes. It's not a guarantee but it's the best shot we have at preventing further damage. Who knows how far they're planning to take their batshit scheme? Overseas? There are already critical levels of radiation in the atmosphere. If we don't stop them soon, the entire planet will be uninhabitable."
"So, no pressure then?" Alan switched back into serious mode. "We don't how many trains will run. We also don't know how long we have before that storm hits, but I'm guessing we want to be out of here by lunchtime at the latest."
Virgil looked to Scott. "What about the rest of the survival group?"
Despite the emotional exhaustion which had followed, Scott couldn't help but recall yesterday's evening with fondness. It had been too long since he'd been swept up in the chaos of an ordinary family dinner – and there was no denying that the survivors treated one another as such – and now the thought of returning to the cursed silence of a dying world filled him with dread.
He wanted to hide away amongst warm blankets and laughter and shared conversations over miscellaneous cooking attempts in the kitchen and thud of steps as Theo hurtled along the hallway with Jasmin and Alan hot on his heels, Birdy giggling at their antics. But mainly he was just homesick for the feeling of belonging. His family was scattered across two planets with no comm link and no matter how many people he surrounded himself with, it wouldn't make up for the fact that some of his people were missing. Still, it had been nice to pretend, if only for a singular evening.
He cleared his throat, hoping his emotions hadn't been readable on his face. "I'll talk to Marisa after breakfast."
"Okay, cool, but now we can sleep some more, right?"
Alan didn't give anyone a chance to disagree. He tackled Gordon onto the mattress, pinning him there with a satisfied grin. He snagged Virgil's sleeve and tugged him closer while Gordon struggled to free himself.
"Alan," John reminded him dryly, "You woke us up."
"And now I want to sleep again."
Gordon gave up on escaping. "Oh, whatever. Sleep sounds good. I could go for more sleep." He prodded Scott's knee with one foot. "You gonna sit there like some kinda weird sleep paralysis demon or are you gonna lie down with the rest of us?"
"We won't all fit."
"Puppy pile," Gordon deadpanned. "Obviously."
Scott wasn't given much choice as Virgil grabbed him around the waist and hauled him into the mess of blankets and brothers. John delicately shifted out of reach. Alan shot him a wounded look designed to have the utmost emotional impact and, despite knowing he was being manipulated, John gave in, although remained on the outside of the huddle so that only Gordon could drape an arm over his back.
"So," Gordon whispered, voice muffled in John's shoulder. "Are we actually taking the train?"
"Yes," Scott mumbled, only half-registering the question. For the first time in days, he actually felt warm. He was already drifting back into sleep.
Gordon inhaled sharply. "Right. Cool. Cool, cool, cool."
Alan rolled onto his back in order to sign, "Quit worrying. Why stress? It might not happen. The GDF could nuke us at any second before we even get chance."
Gordon stared at him. "Why the fuck would you say that? What's wrong with you?"
"Officially? Anxiety. Unofficially? Man, that would take a very long therapy session."
"I'm so concerned about you."
"That's fair. Anyway, sleep!"
It had been a while since Scott had woken of his own accord rather than being jolted from sleep by a threat or by a brother and he had forgotten what it felt like to drift back into consciousness instead of plunging headfirst into an adrenaline rush. Sleep was a warm haze that he had yet to fully shake, and his senses were slow and sluggish as a consequence. It was a comfortably disorientating feeling – confused by the data presented by his senses but content to let it wash over him without further thought.
He was surrounded by warmth and the idea of moving did not appeal. Distantly, voices filtered through a closed door and thin walls. Someone was cooking toast. Rain was drumming against the roof. He closed his eyes and tried to bury his face in the pillow. Aforementioned pillow apparently had hands, one of which carded through his hair and gently tried to push him away. He tightened his hold with a protesting whine. Somewhere above his head there came a fond chuckle.
"Scott, you're going to have to get up eventually."
The furnace plastered to his back grumbled, "Shuddup, Virgil. Let him sleep."
Awareness trickled back to him. He had an arm flung over Virgil's waist, clinging onto him like a human teddy bear, and his face was pressed against his brother's collarbone, fingers coiled in Virgil's shirt to keep him close. The warmth behind him was a certain little brother plastered to his back and, as he tried to sit up, Gordon's grip tightened.
"No."
"Gords," Virgil sighed, "Let him sit up, because until he moves I'm stuck here too. You guys can continue the hug party without me."
"Virg," Gordon whined, voice rough with sleep. He buried his face in Scott's back. "You're the best at hugs though, it won't be the same."
"You're clinging onto Scott, not me," Virgil pointed out. He reached over to flick Gordon's temple. "Okay, seriously, let me up, I've been needing the bathroom for the past hour."
Scott was still half-asleep. His ears heard the words, then his brain disregarded them. He made a vague murmur of complaint when his fingers were carefully unfurled from Virgil's shirt. The arms wrapped around his own waist tightened and then he was pulled across the mattress so that Virgil could escape.
This should have been concerning for many reasons - dignity for one, and the fact that while Gordon was strong, he still shouldn't have been able to haul Scott around like a ragdoll – but he was warm and safe and couldn't really bring himself to give a shit, so he closed his eyes and let Gordon do whatever the hell he wanted.
What Gordon wanted apparently involved scrambling awkwardly over Scott's hip to flop into the space that Virgil had just vacated. The sheets rustled as he curled closer. Scott didn't bother opening his eyes, but he could sense Gordon staring at him. They were probably nose to nose. Whatever, Little Brother was a weird guy.
A featherlight touch brushed his forehead, sorta trembling, which was a fraction too weird even for Gordon, so Scott reluctantly peeled his eyes open.
"What are you doing?"
Gordon exhaled softly, retracting his hand. There was something very lost in his gaze, a reminder that they'd only glimpsed the surface of his pain last night.
"I held a gun to your head." His voice trembled as badly as his hands. "And every time I close my eyes, I see myself pull the trigger."
Scott's breath caught in his throat. All he could come up with was a very pitiful, "Oh."
Gordon had been sticking close to him ever since crashing out of his dissociative spell, which suddenly made a lot more sense. Even now, his little brother had one hand snagged in the fabric above Scott's heart so that he could feel that steady beat through the shirt.
"Objectively," Gordon whispered, ducking his head to break eye contact, "I know I was doing the right thing. But Christ, Scott, it's gonna haunt me for the rest of time."
Scott had spent a lot of time over his life wishing he could rewind the clock and right now was one such example, because this wasn't a grazed knee that he could slap a superhero band-aid on and tell his little brother not to ride a skateboard down carpeted stairs in their childhood home. It wasn't a bruised ego after an embarrassing school day. It wasn't even tears in the aftermath of a really shitty rescue which could be comforted with a hug and a chat and a family movie night.
It was trauma and Scott knew all too well that there was no magic wand he could wave to fix it. It was something Gordon was going to have to live with and all he could do was be there to catch his little brother whenever he slipped into a spiral. It didn't feel like enough but there was no time machine – no matter how many wishes he spent, Scott still couldn't rewind the clock.
"It'll get easier."
Gordon tucked his head under Scott's chin. "I know it will. It just takes such a long time."
"You'll get there." Scott met Virgil's curious gaze over the top of Gordon's head as the bathroom door silently opened. "And like I told you last night – I'm proud of you."
"We both are," Virgil added softly, moving to stand by the bed. He brushed a hand over Gordon's back. "Are you up for some breakfast? I can bring some back here. Probably. I can ask, anyway, and I don't see why anyone would say no."
Gordon pulled away, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. "Nah." He sniffed. "I, uh, I can come eat with everyone. Scotty?"
"Let me fix my hair and I'll be right with you."
He wasn't expecting Gordon to collapse into laughter. Virgil gave an undignified snort.
"What? What did I say?"
"Nothing," Virgil replied, still chuckling. "Just… never change, Scott."
It transpired that Scott was not the only one concerned about his hair. The main apartment was crammed with new faces who he hadn't yet been introduced to, one of whom had set up a hairdressing station in the middle of the lounge. An old bedsheet had been stretched across the floor with a chair planted in the middle and a collection of trimmers and scissors and combs carefully arranged on a tray to the side.
A figure with faded blue hair and vividly green eyes stood at the centre and introduced themself as Joaquim, once a talented hairdresser looking to establish their own business and now a whizz at keeping people well-groomed. They were in the process of trimming Alan's hair into something less mop-like and more manageable.
"Should I be offended?" Scott joked.
Alan frowned. "Why?"
"Well, you wouldn't let me near you with a pair of scissors, but you've got no hang-ups about Joaquin despite only knowing them for all of five seconds…"
"They're a licensed professional! You'd make me look like… like…" Alan floundered for a feasible comparison while Joaquin lowered the scissors to prevent an accident whilst trying to stifle their own chuckles. "I don't know, but it wouldn't be good."
"Thee of little faith," Scott muttered, pretending to sulk while Alan lightly kicked him in the shins. "Hey!"
The entire setting seemed oddly domestic:
Joaquin, with their fine-toothed comb and indistinct humming which they probably didn't even realise they were doing.
Finch lolling on her back at Alan's feet, occasionally sneezing when loose hair drifted over her nose.
People crammed onto every surface – sitting on the rug, on armrests, perched on the edge of the coffee table – while they waited their turn for a haircut.
Birdy in Greta's lap – was that her name? Scott thought so – on the couch, Birdy yammering away in high-pitched excitement while Greta humoured her with thoughtful nods and well-timed hmms.
Toast cooling on several sharing plates across the kitchen counter with a large jug of rehydrated juice and some sliced fruit which was still defrosting but promised to taste better than anything tinned.
Marisa, scraping burnt crusts off some of the slices – nothing could be wasted. Virgil tapped her lightly on the shoulder with an offer to help while Theo used the distraction to steal a slice of slightly-frozen strawberry.
It was a respite from the death lurking outside the windows. In that regard, it also felt unfitting – this one precious moment was yet another element of denial for in less than five hours they would all be on the run again – from the infected, from radiation, from GDF flyers with trigger-happy colonels. But denial was just another form of repression and Scott was a pro at repression, so he ignored all those ugly thoughts in favour of annoying his youngest brother and trying not to look too impatient as he waited for his own turn in the hairdressing chair.
Jasmin wandered through the door still half-asleep, shoulder-length hair a bird's nest of tangles and her sweatshirt crumpled from sleeping on the couch all night. She was very obviously not a morning person, reinforced by the way she hissed at Theo when he laughed at her. Words were still a step too far at this stage of the day. Alan kicked out a spare seat for her at the kitchen counter and she sank into it heavily, blinking blearily at him as she tried to figure out what had changed.
"Hair cut?"
Alan nodded, automatically going to sweep his bangs out of his face only to realise that they were no longer than issue. He grinned at her. "Looking good, am I right?"
"Hmm." Jasmin buried her head in her arms on the countertop. "Not too bad, spaceboy."
Theo slipped-n-slid over the floorboards in rocket-patterned socks. "What about me?"
"As ugly as ever," Jasmin mumbled without looking up.
Theo gaped at her. "You're such a bitch. I don't even know why we're friends."
"Someone's got to keep your ego in check," Jasmin retorted, turning her head so that he could spy her smirk. "Hey, Al, what do you think of his new trim?"
Alan shot Virgil a panicked look, clearly hoping for emotional support. Virgil turned his back, but not before Scott spied his secret smile.
Alan offered an awkward thumbs-up. "Yeah, cool. You look… cool. Good. It's… you look nice."
"Oh my god," Gordon whispered at Scott's side. "Nice. Did he just…? We've gotta get this kid some socialising lessons, Jeezus."
"He's alright," Scott defended Alan instinctively, trying not to laugh. "He's never had an issue when he's in uniform."
"Yeah, but the second you take away his blues he turns into a socially awkward nerd."
"He is a socially awkward nerd. It's endearing."
"Scott." Gordon let out a pitiful whine. "Scotty, it's tragic."
The light-hearted teasing was such a throwback to pre-apocalyptic days that Scott found it physically jarring. He trailed a hand through the longer fur around Finch's ears and closed his eyes briefly, imagining the hum of an aircon unit and the distant clamour of adrenaline-powered voices as brothers retrieved junk food from the snack cupboard post-rescue.
The pressure of someone leaning against his shoulder drew him back to the present. He opened his eyes to spy Gordon's frown, expression pinched with concern that he didn't get chance to vocalise as Joaquin summoned Scott into the chair with a dramatic sweep of an arm and a blinding smile.
There was a lot still to be prepared for the journey ahead. The survival group had been planning their departure and subsequent escape route for nearly a month but there were fine details which had yet to be covered and only a few hours in which to achieve this.
Still, Joaquin patiently worked their wonders on each survivor, claiming that their work was crucial. They weren't wrong – appearance had a direct impact on mental health and plunging into the hot zone after being relatively safe in the apartment was going to put on a strain on everyone, so even the smallest elements of selfcare were important – but it still seemed strange to put as great of an emphasis on haircuts as it did the weather data flickering above a holo-projector.
The weather data happened to be the main topic of conversation over breakfast. It was a blend of toxic purple showing the swathes of radiation sweeping closer. The southern city districts were a no-go zone, and winds were already carrying the fallout in a westerly direction. White splodges showed where radiation had disrupted the feeble scanners attached to the weather drone that Morgan – an engineer – had fixed up, making it impossible to accurately predict the intensity of acid rain or the densest patches of ash. Still, the drone provided an overview which was better than heading into the outside world entirely blind.
John was clearly itching to get his hands on the holograms. As soon as discussions shifted to final loading of the cars waiting in the garage below the apartment block, Gordon pushed the projector towards him. John summoned the holograms back to examine the data.
Scott almost expected him to retrieve the contacts from somewhere, only Virgil still had hold of that case, tucked away safely in his pocket where neither John nor Alan could find them, so John was forced to resort to glasses and old-fashioned notetaking on paper as thin as a skinned leaf. It was only when he slid the paper on top of the map that Alan had stolen from the hospital foyer that Scott realised its purpose – the weather pattern, traced in varying shades of darkness to show the changes over each hour, overlaid the city map perfectly: a weather forecast that didn't require an energy source unlike the holo-projector.
"They're going to take the projector with them," John explained absently without looking up from the final rough edges of predicted precipitation. "This way we'll still have that data. It'll only be of use until we get out of the city, but if we can find a way onto that train then it won't matter anyway."
"Speaking of getting out of the city…" Virgil gripped the back of Scott's chair as he leaned over to spy the weather map. "Scott? You spoken to Marisa yet?"
No, he hadn't, because it wasn't a conversation that he was looking forward to. Some of the survivors were very obviously incapable of clambering around on rooftops and jumping onto the roof of a highspeed train. Asking the group to split up was inconceivable, but equally the idea of dragging Alan away from Theo and Jasmin seemed cruel. He'd seen his little brother smile more in the past fourteen hours than he had done in months.
"No," Scott admitted, staring intently at John's map to avoid Virgil's searching look. He pushed back his chair, repressing a sigh. "I'll speak to her now."
Marisa was in the shared apartment. The couch where the teens had fallen asleep last night was now covered in boxes. She glanced over as he knocked on the door, held up a finger as in wait a sec, tore off a final piece of duct tape to secure a box, then deposited the roll and scissors on top, turning to greet him with a smile.
"Hey. Come to lend me a hand?"
He ran a thumb along the roll to find the end of the tape. "If lending a hand involves talking, then sure."
"Talking?" Marisa clasped a hand to her heart with a mock gasp. "Oh no, sounds serious." She dropped the teasing act. "Sorry. What's up?"
He peeled a strip of duct tape away from the roll. "What do you know about the trains?"
"The…" Marisa's hands stilled. "You've seen the trains."
It wasn't a question.
Scott took the photo-frame from her hands and slid it into the box. "Yeah, I've seen them. Every two hours, heading north, like clockwork. What do you know about them? Are they operated by the Global Defence Force?"
Marisa's shoulders slumped. "As far as I can tell? No. Before radios went down there were rumours of several private bunkers further north, closer to the border. The trains are a recent development, only in the past fortnight. I assumed they were linked. We've been observing them and there aren't any obvious signs of GDF activity, so… Private bunkers seem a likely explanation."
A new gust of wind smacked against the window. Scott repressed a shudder.
"Those trains travel far faster than a car could. They're the quickest way north."
Marisa met his gaze. "You're going to find a way on board."
"That's the plan. I need answers and a working comm link off-planet – a private bunker is the likeliest place to have those things." He held out the piece of tape. "Look, I know it's probably impossible for some of your group, but if you wanted to come with us… the offer is there."
"You're right. Some of our group would never make it."
Marisa took the tape and secured the flaps of the final box, planting a hand on top as she twisted to face him.
"However… There isn't enough room in the cars. We've known that for a long time now. Some of the elderly folk were going to remain here. They say they've had their time and it's important for the kids to get out safely. Which… I get their argument, but it feels wrong. If I come with you - if Jasmin and Theo come too - that leaves enough room in the cars for everyone."
"Marisa. There is no guarantee you'll ever see any of them again."
Marisa's smile was brittle. "They're my friends. I didn't know any of them before this, but survival brings people together. I care about them, but my priorities are Jasmin and Theo. Frankly, I think our odds are better if we stick with your family. Besides…" Her gaze fell on Theo's discarded textbook on the coffee table. "Last night was the first time Theo hasn't woken with nightmares. I haven't heard Jasmin laugh in weeks. What's the point in survival without happiness?"
"You don't have to decide right now."
"I already have." Marisa patted his arm as she slipped past. "Let me talk to the rest of the group, let them know what I've decided. If possible, I'd like to see them off, help them finish packing. Is that alright with you?"
"Take as long as you need."
She paused in the doorway, a calculating light in her eyes. "Actually, come with me. There's something I need to show you before we leave."
That 'something' turned out to be the next floor down. The apartments were filled with weapons. Most had been stolen from stores with labels still attached and boxes of unopened ammo carefully arranged on tables in locked rooms. Outlines in dust showed that the majority of the gear had already been removed.
"Most of it has been stashed in the cars already," Marisa explained, propped against the doorway as she watched Scott trail a hand over the barrel of an unused rifle. "This is the overflow – stuff we couldn't find space for. Take what you need."
A distinctive chirp rang through the empty space. It was unfitting amid the weaponry and Scott looked up sharply, attention caught by the sound which appeared to be coming from a cloth-covered bulk in the corner. Marisa followed his gaze.
"Canaries."
She yanked the cover free to reveal a cage of yellow songbirds.
"We use them to warn us of the infected. Did you know that birds sing when danger is nearby? They take to the sky and make such a raucous that all the other birds know that there's a predator around." She crooked her little finger through the bars to brush a honey feather. "We have proper carriers for them, don't worry. We'll take two with us and the rest will remain with the group."
Scott forced himself to look away. He swore he could taste burnt feathers at the back of his throat. The memory of fire flickering over yellow plumage and reflecting in tearful amber eyes was almost enough to make him gag. He curled his fingers around the grip of a machete.
Marisa's gaze was curious, but she didn't press for answers. "I need to help the others with packing the cars. It should only take about forty minutes. Do you want me to send your brothers down here so you can all stock up on gear?"
"Y-yeah." He cleared his throat. "Sorry, yes. That'd be good. Thanks."
"Not a problem." She gestured to the closed door of an adjourning room. "Spare clothes. Good, military-grade stuff. It's what we wear on patrols: Kevlar, that sorta thing. Anything that's there is up for grabs. Once I've seen the others on their way, I'll meet you upstairs and we can fill the backpacks with supplies."
"Sounds like a plan. See you later."
Marisa winked at him. "Have fun."
He barely noticed the door close behind her. He definitely didn't notice when it opened again, nor was he aware of footsteps across the cold floorboards until a hand landed on his shoulder and he nearly jumped outta his skin.
"Jesus Christ, Virgil," he muttered, heart hammering. "Don't sneak up on me like that."
"Sorry," Virgil replied, not looking very apologetic at all. He tried to hide his smile, shifting his attention to the collection of weapons. "Wow. This is… a lot."
"Oh, cool, check it out!" Alan jokingly swung a crowbar and nearly hit Gordon in the face. "Oops, sorry. But hey, I feel like Parker."
Gordon stole it from him before he could accidentally kill a living person. "Maybe stick to your bat."
"How come you get all the cool weapons?"
"Because I actually know how to use them." Gordon balanced one of the blades over his knuckles, calculating, shifting back into a military mindset. He reached for the crossbow. "Remember we've got to carry this stuff around so steer clear of heavier weapons..."
Virgil was the first to register that change in tone. "What? What's wrong?"
"Nothing," Gordon murmured distantly, setting the crossbow down again as he ventured closer to the cage of canaries. They'd fallen silent now, but their wings rustled when they hopped between perches. He hooked his fingers through the bars, dropping to his knees as he stared at the tiny creatures. One of them was inquisitive and fluttered close enough to brush against his knuckles. The yellow feathers were soft and downy underneath that arched wing.
"Gordon," John prompted, just sharply enough to be jarring. He was standing by the door to the adjourning room and the frame had swollen, so he had to kick it open. "Come on." He tilted his head to motion to the darkness within. "We need to pick out new gear. Let's go."
Gordon rose back to his feet slowly as if dazed. Alan took a step towards him and faltered, glancing to Virgil in question.
John fumbled for a light switch. Brightness bled into the shadows. Racks of dark clothes were neatly lined up along the far wall. It looked as if the group had raided a military hardware store at some point. Gordon shoved past him to reach a long-sleeved jacket, running a hand over the pockets as he considered the pros and cons.
"Three of us need gear," John remarked, pushing hangers aside. Metal gave an ugly screech. He winced, pulling a pair of trousers into the light. "I'm assuming you're sticking with your GDF suit?"
"Seems best," Gordon admitted, shrugging one shoulder in a loose gesture that suggested he wasn't particularly comfortable with that decision but was unwilling to confess as much. "Alan? You good with IR blues still? The plating's useful and the radiation seal is better than nothing. You can always add layers. Check this jacket out."
He tossed a bundle of dark fabric at his brother. Alan unravelled it to discover thermal layers and a fur rim. Not only was it warm enough to stand up against the freezing temperatures of a nuclear winter, but it was also thick enough to withstand a rotter attack. Human teeth were sharp, but not that sharp. His IR suit was still drying off upstairs after Virgil's attempts at washing it, but he slipped the parka on over his shirt to test the size. It swamped him and Scott was torn between laughing and finding it hopelessly endearing.
"Isn't there a smaller size?" Alan held out his arms. The sleeves flapped like wings. He levelled Gordon with a pointed look. "I look dumb."
"You look warm," John corrected, still working his way through the hangers. "That's more important than style."
Virgil shouldered past Gordon to reach the only rack John had yet to inspect. His gaze was laser-focussed on a particular cluster of clothing, something which knocked bells of familiarity ringing in Scott's mind despite his inability to put a name to it.
Virgil hauled the fabric off the hangers and spread it across the floor, making short work of the ties holding it together in a neat bundle, revealing a set of dark overalls. He flipped the sleeve of one inside-out to reveal a familiar layer which glinted silver in the light.
John hooked the trousers back over the rail and moved to stand over him. "Radiation shielding. They're the military-rated version of hazmat suits."
"Like what they were wearing when they found us yesterday," Scott recalled aloud. He prodded one of the masks, surprised to find it was both light-weight and high-quality. "Huh. Good find, Virg."
"We've already had too much exposure, but if we limit how much more we receive…" Virgil glanced up at John. "We'll still need decontamination packs wherever we end up after this, be that a private bunker or another GDF facility."
Scott stole the dark blue coverall. "One problem at a time, remember?"
"Too many problems," Gordon remarked quietly, "And not enough time."
No one said much else after that.
